DREAMS DO SHOW THEE TO ME

CHAPTER 4

A/N : Just one more chapter after this one; hope you enjoy. I'll be the one hiding in the corner so nobody stakes me...Thanks to Kat for making it make sense!

After picking listlessly at her dinner, Buffy excused herself early and escaped to the solitary safety of her room. She had a magazine to flick through, but couldn't get interested in it and decided she'd just snuggle down and see if she could chase that feeling she'd had earlier in the day after a delicious dream. Her neck was prickling, her skin felt over-sensitised, as if there was something hovering on the edge of her senses, ephemeral and not to be grasped at or it would disappear. It was strangely comforting, although not conducive to a restful – and dream-filled – sleep. Eventually, she dozed off, rolling over fitfully in her sleep and chattering away to herself.




As he had the night before, Spike slipped silently into her room and watched the Slayer as she lay curled into a ball, hugging the pillow with her hair fanned out across her face. He almost groaned aloud as he noted the sheet that draped her body and tangled between her legs revealed that she had gone to bed naked. He shuffled forward, helpless to stop himself, his eyes glued to the curve of her back and the soft skin at the base of her spine. One rounded buttock peeked from beneath the rumpled cover, and it took great effort of will for him not to reach out and caress her flesh.




As it was, he had to steady himself against the wall when Buffy shuffled round on the mattress, lying splayed out on her back, her arms thrown up around her head and her breasts high and taut with pebbled nipples begging for the sweep of his tongue.




When he heard her murmur his name and smile, he sank to his knees at the side of the bed and swept his gaze over her much-missed features. He'd rarely seen her like this, so relaxed; when they'd shared a bed, or a sarcophogus, they'd done everything but sleep, and on the odd occasion she'd closed her eyes Spike hadn't dared look at her for too long for fear that she'd suddenly open her eyes and kick him for daring to do so. No, he'd kept his looks of adoration for long distances only. It was a rare pleasure to see her like this.




He risked touching her fingers, softly, reverently – and almost fell over when her grip tightened and he was caught. He truly thought the game was up, expecting to see her glinting hazel eyes when he lifted his head to look at her face; but no – her eyes were closed and there was a soft smile on her lips, lips that parted as he watched and soundlessly mouthed his name. Without thinking, his free hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb gently sweeping across her cheekbone as he bent to kiss her. Buffy writhed on the bed, kicking the covers off completely and arching her back as their tongues met and tangled, her arm coming up to grab Spike and hold him close as he fell across her body.




He froze; he hadn't intended to do the big reveal tonight, wasn't ready, didn't know what to say – but Buffy must surely be aware of him. Hell, her body was...




The way she was moving beneath him, though, he couldn't tear himself away, not if his very existence depended upon it. He ghosted his free hand down her side, delighting in the soft flesh that moved beneath his fingers; Buffy let go of his other hand and wrapped both arms around him, her fingers twisting and pulling at his hair as she devoured his mouth in a bruising kiss. Her leg wrapped around his hip, rubbing her groin against his denim-clad bulge and soaking the heavy cloth.




Her breathy moan as she arched into him, pulse rocketing, eyes rolling as she panted his name, was too much for his self-restraint and he bit down on his lip to stop the roar that wanted out as he came like a piss-poor virgin in his pants. Spike cursed under his breath as Buffy stretched and wriggled beneath him, springing to his feet to let her free and watching anxiously until she curled up into a ball and her breathing settled to an even rhythm.




She had a smile on her face.




And so she bloody well should have, Spike thought as he checked out his sodden jeans with a rueful grin. Maybe he should just wake her now, lay it all out on the table and let her do what she would. Maybe she wouldn't kick him in the head, and maybe he was just being a total nancy-boy.




One more night. One more night of watching her and smelling her, listening to her murmuring in her sleep, and he'd sacrifice himself to whatever fate the Slayer had in store for him.




He sat in the shadows and gazed at her until the sun started to tinge the ink dark night with grey, reluctantly slipping out of the door and almost floating to the room Giles had allocated for him to get some rest himself.




+ + + +




Buffy couldn't wipe the smile from her face when she awoke, flushing hotly as she pried apart her sticky thighs and remembered the dream she'd had. How she'd arched up into Spike's cool, athletic form, clinging to him like a bitch in heat until she came, hard. All of her body was limp and languid, satiated, every kink and knot smoothed out. It had been a good move coming to England, despite the fact she still didn't know the specifics behind her latest mission. No doubt Giles would tell her soon enough, and in the meantime there was shopping and that delicious full English breakfast that she'd had yesterday, and that was calling to her now as the aroma crept up the stairs from the dining room.




And then there were the dreams. In Italy, she'd had a few nights when she'd woken panting and wet, but mostly she woke screaming, her arms reaching out to hug a ghost while tears tracked down her cheeks. Two nights she'd slept here in the land of her vampire, and both nights had been a balm for her troubled soul. She contemplated a permanent move to England, buoyant with a good night's sleep and for the first time in a long time, hope for the future. After a good stretch, she swung her legs out of bed and headed for the shower, washing quickly and pulling on some sweats so that she wouldn't have to wait any longer for the scrumptious food she was craving.




Her feet stopped of their own accord as she passed a door along the corridor; she'd taken a wrong turning and instead of finding the stairs, she'd found a shady landing with heavy, wooden doors along its length. She had an overwhelming urge to break down the door she was gazing at, an instinct that something was behind it, but she couldn't make sense of it. She rested her cheek against the cool wood, splaying her right hand out by the side of her face and closed her eyes, breathing deeply.




On the other side of the door, Spike mirrored her position, mouthing her name in wonder.




“Buffy...”




It was too low for her to hear, and before long he heard her footsteps as she turned around and headed the right way to the stairs.




+ + + +




Giles was late to breakfast, having slept badly, his nerves shredded with the weight of the secret he was carrying. He would have it out with Spike later, he'd decided, end this farce here and now no matter what the vampire had in mind. It just wasn't fair to let Buffy suffer any more. And besides, he really couldn't keep downing scotch just to get some sleep...




“Morning! You look terrible!” Buffy blurted out before she could stop herself. Giles had dark circles beneath his eyes and was yawning even as he sipped his tea.




“Charmed, I'm sure,” he replied. “And you look simply radiant! I think England suits you, Buffy.” It was true; even thought it had only been two days, she looked like a different woman. Her sallow skin was tinged with pink and her eyes were sparkling. It was delightful to see her coming alive again.




Buffy giggled as she speared a mushroom. “I had a dream again.” Giles didn't miss her blush as it spread up her neck to her face. “It was good; I'm... good.” She dazzled him with a beaming smile and he bit his lip to stop a sob of happiness. He was responsible for her, no matter that she no longer needed a watcher. It wasn't his duty to look out for her, it was his privilege. He smiled.




“That's wonderful, Buffy. I'm so glad.” Notch up another plus point for the vampire, he decided. In fact, right there and then, he made a decision. Bugger the Council, bugger the opinions of anybody else – Rupert Giles was coming out of the dark ages and embracing the age of the soulful vampire. He was officially – and he swallowed hard as he admitted it to himself – on Spike's side.




Awash with his newly-found camaraderie for the snoozing undead two floors above them, Giles relaxed and became chatty with Buffy, almost forgetting himself twice as he was about to mention Spike in the present tense. Thankfully, she didn't notice, absorbed as she was in the new pleasure of fried bread.




“So, can I maybe just hang out with the girls today? Without the pressure of being 'The Chosen One' now they've all done looking me up and down, I guess we could train or something.”




“Oh, that would be an excellent idea, Buffy. I'm sure they miss the cut and thrust that Faith usually instils into their training sessions. In fact, you go and get ready and I'll inform Lara straight away.”




Buffy sat and finished her tea, another Brit thing she was getting more than used to, and contemplated the changes that had occurred in the short time she'd been here. Eating, for one thing, and sleeping, waking with a smile on her face. Yes; she was definitely going to speak to Giles and suggest she made it a permanent move.




+ + + +




Buffy returned to her room sweaty and aching after her work-out. Faith was doing a good job with the girls, one of them had caught her with a killer blow to the cheek, a spin-kick that was going to mark for a day or two. Buffy had given her the nod, warrior to warrior, and had resisted the urge to go full out with a Slayer demonstration. She felt oddly proud of the group even though she didn't know most of their names yet. Maybe when Faith got back the two old hands could run a tag-team master class.




And again with the Spike thoughts. She remembered the time when Angel came to Sunnydale, right before the apocalypse – the worst one ever, in her mind – and Spike had acted all jealous in the basement. She'd suggested putting the two vampires in a room, letting them duke it out. It made her smile, until the loss hit her again. It was worse now, too. Angel was gone. She no longer loved him like she had, but the thought of him being forever out of her life --- well, it hurt. Giles had finally told her what had happened to Angel and his gang in LA, although she felt he was sparing her from the complete details. He'd glossed over the final battle and had been uncharacteristically reticent when she'd asked what had happened to those fighting with Angel. It wasn't as if she knew any of them anyway other than Cordelia and Wesley, not really. Her memories were only those that belonged to other people but that had been passed along to her over the years.




“Rest in peace,” she murmured for fallen warriors, shrugging off her clothes and stepping into the shower. The warm water sluiced over her skin, easing the tiredness of bunched muscles and bringing a sigh of contentment to her lips as she lathered, rinsed and repeated. And yet again a wave of Spike thoughts came to her as the scent of her shampoo recalled his soft words, the last night they'd cuddled on the cot in the basement, one arm wrapped around her middle holding her tight, the other lifting and sifting her hair through his cool fingers. His voice rumbled against her as he soothed her with words and strokes until she slept.




'Always loved your smell, love, nothing else like it. This hair, soft and silky...'




'Thought you said it was stupid hair?'




'Nah.' A low chuckle. 'I was stupid, should've just told you how I felt. Maybe you wouldn't 've chopped it off then.'




'Oh, I so would – shorter probably.' A pause. 'So, you knew why I did that, huh?'




'Know everything about you, love. I drown in you, remember. Smell like sunshine, you do, warm and clean and I could've cried when you sheared your mane.' A wicked grin that she felt on the back of her neck. 'Like I said – I like the way it bounces around when you...'




'Pig.'




'Yeah, but I love you like a man.'




Silence; shared silence and comfort. And love.




“Okay, Buffy Summers,” she sniffled under the cooling water, “enough with the weeping and lamenting. Consider yourself lucky you had that last night.”




Spike, in his room down the corridor, shifted in his sleep, his brow furrowed , murmuring his love to an empty room as a single tear tracked down his cheek to fall on the pillow as he dreamed of Buffy being ripped from his arms leaving only her fragrance of lily and jasmine behind.




+ + + +




Buffy excused herself early from her dinner with Giles and some of the less stuffy watchers who had finally worn her down with their obsequious invites. It hadn't been too bad, at least until a young and eager she-Giles cleared her throat nervously and asked Buffy what she knew about William the Bloody. Giles, bless him, had deflected the question, but the damage was done; she was back to full on missage.




Her downcast eyes and monosyllabic responses alarmed Giles to such an extent that he was relieved when Buffy pleaded tiredness and left. He watched her go, her slumped shoulders and bowed head cutting him to the quick, knowing as he did that he could relieve her anguish in seconds if not for his promise to the vampire. He would give Spike tonight to put her out of her misery, or all bets were off. Spike may have changed, but Buffy was his priority, and he couldn't see her hurting any longer.




Buffy bypassed the lounge area where she was going to go and select a book, the laughter and chatter putting her off. Alone time, that's what she was seeking. Alone time, self-recrimination and dreams. She trudged up the stairs knowing full well that while her dreams so far in England had been pleasant, tonight's would probably revert to form and she'd wake up screaming in the small hours of the morning, eyes swollen shut from tears.




And still she'd rather have that than no dreams at all, because at least she felt close to him that way.




A quick wash and brush of her teeth and she was tucked up in bed, but wide awake. She folded her hands on top of the coverlet and sighed, screwing up her eyes. It wasn't working. She was about to get up and go in search of a milky drink or something when she felt a warmth suffuse her body and she snuggled down and closed her eyes again. Delicious; she felt heavy and sleepy, and very happy. It was the last thing she expected, but she wasn't going to turn it away or second guess it.




With a smile on her lips, Buffy nodded off.




In the corridor, Spike leaned back against Buffy's door, wearing a smug grin. His girl had been agitated and sad, he'd felt her distress as she climbed the stairs and was waiting at his door for her to come by. He was almost sure that she'd head straight for him, able to sense him as he lurked behind the heavy oak. But she'd ducked inside her own room and prepared for bed, the pall of her mood hanging heavy about her.




That was his fault. He could fix that. Last night, the night before, when he'd watched her grown calm and content in his presence, he’d convinced himself that everything would be alright. She'd be happy to see him and all would be forgiven. His lack of contact, the fact that he'd made Giles lie to her – well, he was hoping that she'd overlook that in the flush of happiness he'd try to instill in her. Time spent with the Fang Gang in LA hadn't been wasted, and Wes had shown him a trick or two, mostly showy stuff to amuse the crowd. One thing was the ability to project emotions on the susceptible. And as far as Spike went, Buffy was as susceptible as they came.




So, he'd flooded her with feelings of warmth and safety, enabling her to sleep – and hopefully wake with enough good vibes that she'd kiss him not kill him.




+ + + +




Buffy was drifting in a haze of warmth; she was dreaming of a sun-kissed beach, the warm rays bathing her skin. She felt relaxed and happy, stretching out her limbs and arching her back as she reached above her head. Only one thing was missing...




In her sleep, Buffy's lips curved and mouthed his name, her hands seeking the touch of his cool flesh. Spike stood at the side of the bed and watched her, marvelling at the blissful look on her face as she spoke his name. Without conscious thought he reached out and cupped her cheek, Buffy turning towards his cool palm and sighing happily.




Right. He'd seen enough. Everything she was doing, unconsciously and therefore presumably when her real feelings were in control, was telling him that she cared for him. He should trust his instincts.




Spike shrugged off his duster, smiling at the moue and the disappointed clucks coming from his slayer as he moved away from her. His toed-off boots clunked noisily, his shirt and jeans kicked across the floor in haste. Before he could change his mind, he lifted back the covers and slid in beside Buffy's warm body. She turned to him immediately, plastering herself to his side with a sigh of contentment and throwing her leg across his hips.




Spike wrapped her tight in his arms, beyond caring what happened now. Hell, if he combusted in the next ten seconds it would have been worth it. But given the satisfied mumbling coming from his companion and the way she was trying to get even closer to him, he mused that he may just last the night.




Unless she burned him with the heat of her flesh.




Minutes passed with them just lying there, Spike matching Buffy's breathing as he always had on those few precious nights when she'd allowed him to hold her while she slept. His eyes were fluttering closed, despite the fact that he'd spent the day dozing, as the sheer rightness of where he was and what he was doing permeated his body and soul. He was utterly content.




His eyes jerked open as Buffy's teeth scraped across his pectoral muscle where she lay on his chest, and her warm hand snaked its way down his stomach to clutch at his cock as it lay quite happily in repose on his thigh. That all went out the window as she suckled on his flesh and caressed his growing erection, Spike grinding his teeth to stop from groaning out loud. The woman would definitely be the death of him. Here he was, happy with hearts and flowers and twined limbs, and didn't the bloody slayer – and now his body – have other ideas? Ideas that may just have the bed dropping through the ceiling and entertaining the gathered watchers in the rooms below?




Buffy grew bolder, moving her hips so that she was almost straddling him and thankfully for Spike's self-control she let go of his swollen dick and ran her hand up his side to twine in the curls at the nape of his neck.




Relief was short-lived, however, as Buffy started to grind her groin against his hip and his hands, of their own volition, moved to grip her ass and drag her fully on top of him. He closed his eyes in fear, certain that when he opened them he'd be facing one pissed-off slayer and dancing with the devil before he could explain.




All he saw above him when he opened one eye was an angel, her blonde hair cascading down her back as she threw back her head, the soft light from the bedside lamp illuminating it with a halo. Her eyes were closed, her lips wet from the tongue that kept sliding out to accompany the soft whimpers she was making as she moved slowly, her hands splayed out on his chest to steady herself. She was rubbing herself up against his groin, his cock sliding along her wet slit, but tantalisingly never penetrating her. Spike's fingers were digging into her butt hard as he tried to move her to where he wanted her, but Buffy was in charge, continuing to rock against him and pant. He was captivated by watching her face, the way she nibbled on her bottom lip, gripping it between her teeth then letting go to moan.




When she sat back and cupped one breast with her eager hand, fingers tweaking and rolling her nipple to hardness, Spike was the one to whimper. He moved his hand to caress the curve of her back, his other moving to seek out her clit. Slowly, he ran one digit along her pussy lips, gratified when she stopped rocking momentarily and bucked towards the source of the new sensations coursing through her body. Emboldened by the fact that she still seemed to be deep in sleep, he slid one, then two fingers inside her tight channel, rubbing her sensitive clit with his thumb. Buffy started panting heavily, pulling hard at her nipple with one hand while the other gripped Spike's hip, nails digging deep, almost hard enough to draw blood.




It was exquisite torture to him, his cock jutting stiffly from the dark curls at its base, aching to be surrounded in her familiar heat. But seeing her get pleasure from his touch was almost as good. Her channel tightened against his fingers, her gasps coming rhythmically until she grunted his name and fell forwards to claim his mouth, kissing him hungrily.




Spike lifted her so that he could thrust up into her slickness, unable to wait any longer to feel her heat around his cock. He groaned into her mouth, biting down on her lip. He was on sensory overload and really didn't care any more whether she woke or not. This was the end of the lie; when Buffy opened her eyes, he'd be there, for better or for worse.




TBC....